


Chasing, besting, freeing

by phisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Smut with slight angst, VicChri, Written for Bel Ami: A Giacometti Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15586779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen
Summary: ‘No one had yet to best him’, indeed.Little did they know, they being press, fans and a large part of the skating world, that he did best him. He bested him after every championship they had skated together since he turned eighteen, and tonight didn’t seem to become an exception.





	Chasing, besting, freeing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece for [**Bel Ami: A Giacometti Zine**](http://giacomettizine.tumblr.com) and it was a delightful expierence! It's a nice challenge writing for zines since you have to stick to your word limit, which isn't an easy feat!
> 
> If you missed out on this fantastic zine with super talented writers and divine artists, then, you should be making a sad face right about now.

**_Are you up?_ **

Chris chuckled when he saw the text, but for a reason unclear to him. Maybe it was because he had expected a text just like that, ambiguous and banter-inducing, to come on a night like this. Or, maybe the sound was a sign of surprise for it was terribly late and that wasn’t like them. They usually started this game much, much earlier and by normal standards, they would be finished by now.

Finished. Finished meant being done with yet another skating season, finished with pushing their bodies to the limit, finished with beloved friends and hated rivals for at least a few months, until the cycle started anew.

Chris swiped his phone to respond to the message, feeling his body react immediately. It was hardwired into him now, the course of things. Competing, wanting more but ending up short. Standing on the podium, but never in the middle. Getting pats on his shoulder and meaning looks because ‘no one had yet to best him’, followed by the inevitable ‘next season, maybe’.

**_Naturally ;)_ **

He typed his reply and hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before he turned the mobile phone around and took a picture. He inspected the picture, his cock straining against the fabric of the hotel’s slightly chafing bathrobe, decided that it was more than good enough to send and did just so with a smile teasing his lips.

‘No one had yet to best him’, indeed.

Little did they know, they being press, fans and a large part of the skating world, that he did best him. He bested him after every championship they had skated together since he turned eighteen, and tonight didn’t seem to become an exception. Because, being finished also meant, at least to them, being entwined in a heap of limbs, flesh to flesh and slippery with sweat after a different kind of competition, where coming first and second didn't matter.

Not surprisingly, the knock on the door eventually came and Chris took his time to get out of bed, saunter over to the door and open it.

“Nikiforov,” he said, mirth in his voice.

“Giacometti,” came the reply, voice and breath saturated with alcohol.

“Wanna come in?”

Chris stepped to the side and let Victor enter, puzzled by the lack of banter, the smell. When he last saw Victor, he'd been sober. Strange, that.

“Congratulations, Victor. World champion, _again_.”

Victor made a small noise, probably to let Chris know that he’d heard him, but nothing more.

“Hey,” Chris continued after closing the door, following Victor further inside the room, “that long face at the press conference? Existential crisis?”

Chris let his hand skim along Victor’s back until it settled and found its favorite spot, just shy of Victor’s waist. He leaned in slightly and touched the nape of Victor’s neck with his lips, breathing onto him. Whilst letting his teeth scrape the delicate skin, he mumbled his usual line, the one that usually set things in motion.

“Think you’ll be first tonight?”

Victor huffed in reply, just short of making his exhale a scoff. “I’m getting tired of this.”

Chris recognised the mood. The broody, tired mood that had been just a whisper since last season but now seemed to be dictating things within Victor. And, the reason behind the vodka riding on his breath. Of course, it was inevitable. Chris knew that, understood it perfectly. Being in another league, always at the top even though being plagued by a diminishing motivation, would make a person tired and needing to forget. But come hell, high water or just dwindling motivation, Victor continued winning and that was a mystery to Chris.

Another mystery was _this_ . It wasn’t like them, this exchange. This slow interaction and modest temperature, having to work for it. Usually, they would have been caught up in each other by now. Hands on each other and tearing into skin, mouths sucking away anything else than heated sounds of sexual release, bodies fighting for dominion regarding who would give and receive. But, here they were now, _talking_ about Victor’s loss of fervor.

“I can make you feel good,” Chris said playfully, trying to steer away from the beaten path with his hands seeking out the front of Victor’s sweats. “Energised, even. Come on, Victor. I’ve been waiting for this all season.”

Chris felt Victor shift, his hips pressing themselves forward to meet his hands.

“Then,” he said, low into Victor’s ear, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

When Chris’ hands broke the barrier between clothes and skin, he heard Victor sigh as he was leaning his head back. Back, back until it touched Chris’ shoulder. Chris freed him and took him in his hand, slowly commencing their unspoken agreement they had kept for years. Stroking Victor hard, helping him find his way away from the noise in his head. Away from all of that Chris considered to be unimportant. At least in that moment, for the festering thoughts could be dealt with later. _Afterwards._

This, having his hand around Victor’s cock, making him closer to come undone gave Chris a high. A rush uncompared, especially when Victor’s hands became hungry, when they started to paw and claw after him. Tugging at the bathrobe, tangling themselves up in his hair, trying to find flesh to hold on to. He bested him, every time.

“Oh, Nikiforov,” Chris softly hummed into Victor’s ear, “can't keep your hands to yourself?”

Then, it became a chaos. A disarray, as hands fought fabric, bodies fought each other, mouthsㅡ

“Kiss me,” Chris implored breathily, throbbing due the struggle. Realising that he was pinned down, he settled, with his head digging into the pillow of the bed.

But no kiss came after the telltale sound of a wrapper being ripped open, a cap being flicked off. Just the tearing pressure, hands firmly digging into his hips, Victor inside him with a desperation that was novel. Flattering. Auspicious.

“Did he mean it? Did he?” Victor's voice sounded strained from behind, guttural with every collision created between them.

Chris liked this new Victor. The need he had for him, the no bullshit approach, the strange selfishness in order to climax, the way he simply took him. _Magnifique._ What Chris didn't like about this new Victor, however, was those questions he kept on asking. Those questions Chris didn't understand nor had any answers to.

When the pace upped, Chris had to brace by holding on to the headboard. Victor's hands and hips were working together, pushing and pulling simultaneously. Creating the most fantastical discord, which made Chris turn lax and Victor… still hard as he slid out of him.

Chris was still in a daze, trying to come down from his high, when he heard Victor stir.

“You're going?” Chris mumbled, trying to focus on Victor's blurry apparition on the other side of the room. His eyelids felt heavier with every breath, making it increasingly difficult.

“Yeah. I… I need to think.”

“Mhm…”

“I just need to know. _Au revoir._ ”

The door clicked, making Chris feel instantly awake. Like the click of the door was the switch to the light inside his head.

On wobbly legs, covering himself with a pillow for decency, he reached the door and took a few steps out in the hallway.

“Victor! It won't solve anything!”

Further down the hall, Victor slurred. “You don't know that!”

“He was _drunk_!” After a heartbeat he added, though so quietly that it was probably meant just for his own ears, “Like you are now.”

When the news came roughly one month later that Victor Nikiforov, five time consecutive World skating champion, had taken the next season off to suddenly coach in Japan instead, Chris felt an immense jealousy.

He had been bested at his own game, without even knowing.

  

**-fin-**


End file.
